"Oh, there was a damning chain of circumstantial evidence, strong enough to convict an angel from above. I have no time to tell you now; on our way I will tell you all. Merciful Heaven! if we should be too late."
"I will go instantly! I will be ready in a moment." said Christie, wildly, as she hurriedly threw on her wrappings.
"But not in this storm, Christie. Does thee not hear how it rages?" anxiously said Uncle Reuben, who all this time had been a silent, wondering listener. "Thee must not venture out to-night."
"Oh, I must! I must! the life of a fellow-creature depends upon it," said Christie, tying on her large mantle with trembling haste.
Willard Drummond paused for a moment in dismay, to listen to the storm howling through the trees, and glance at the frail, fragile little figure before him. But the thought of Sibyl in peril—of that dreadful death—steeled his heart against every other feeling.
"She must be saved, let what will follow," he mentally exclaimed.
"Thee will never be able to make thy way through this storm, Christie," said Reuben, rising in still increasing anxiety; "in thy delicate state of health, too. Listen to the wind and rain."
"Oh! I hear it! I hear it! But though it rained fire from heaven, I should have to go."
"Thee will never survive this night, if thee ventures out," said Uncle Reuben, solemnly.
"What matters it? My life is worthless, so hers is saved," she said, with sorrowful bitterness.